


Pink Mittens

by flannelfeelings



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Santiago Loves Jake Peralta, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Detective Work, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Married Life, Parents Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/flannelfeelings
Summary: During a difficult case, Jake finds himself leaning on his wife and son to remind him that the world isn't always as awful as it seems.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 3
Kudos: 113





	Pink Mittens

**Author's Note:**

> BIG BRIGHT RED WARNING:: This fic has mentions of a child abduction case, nothing too detailed but it's what Jake is working on so if that's difficult for you to see please turn away!!  
> It gets a little angsty but also fluffy at times so...there you have it.The world is pretty shitty rn and i keep having to remind myself to look for the little bits of good that peak out when we least expect it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, sorry for the probably tons of mistakes, it's unbeta'd and only read by me with blurry tired eyes late at night
> 
> Please lmk your thoughts! Thanks for reading!

The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by hardening dirt. The cold New York winter had begun to absorb the piece of fabric, ice and earth growing around it like blankets.

Detective Jake Peralta could feel bitter, frigid winds curling up around his shoulders. He shuddered slightly at the brisk air, but remained squatted beside the slightly buried glove. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from it.

It was pastel pink, the knuckles decorated with little white unicorns. It was a small glove, probably fit for a little girl around five years old, just one year older than his own child, who was waiting at home with his wife Amy.

Jake could not tear his gaze off of the glove; something so pure, sweet and colorful, entrenched in a dark, cold crime scene. The calluses of humanity pooling around the most altruistic innocence. A little girl’s pink unicorn gloves.

Had she begged her mother to get these ones, rather than a more basic pair? Had she showed them off to her friends at school the next day, gushing about the unique design? Had she shuddered while waiting for the bus, and tucked her gloved-hands underneath her arms, relieved she had such warm protection against the upcoming cold months?

“Got something Jake?” The voice of Jake’s colleague Charles Boyle shook him out of his stupor, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the other detective approaching.

Jake jerked his chin toward the glove, and said in a strained voice, “It’s her glove.”

Charles’ eyes lowered to the ground, where he too took in the sight of the pink fabric. The missing girl they were looking for had worn pink gloves just like this one in the only identifying photo they had of her. She’d been missing for over forty-eight hours now, which meant the likeliness of finding her alive, was abysmal at best.

There was an unpleasant sourness on Charles’ face, uncharacteristic for his usual buoyancy, “Oh man.”

“It’s been here a while, a few days at least.” Jake said, studying the glove partially encased in earth, “There must’ve been a struggle and she lost it.”

“Well, now we have a starting point.” Charles said quietly, grabbing an evidence bag and stretching a pair of gloves over his hands, which were turning beet red from the bite of cold air.

“Charles-” Jake held a hand out in front of his friend’s chest to stop him.

“Jake?”

Jake swallowed hard, still unable to tug his large brown eyes away from the glove. He paused silently, unsure of how exactly to word what he was feeling at the moment. Part of him was terrified that if they moved the glove, it would be an admittance that the case had gone cold. One last piece of her visible to the world, one last cry for help, one last breadcrumb to desperately try and save her.

“How small do you have to be?” Jake asked quietly, “To have gloves that size?”

Charles grimaced visibly, it was clear the contents of this case were starting to wear on him as well, “Pretty small, Jake. Smaller than Niko, for sure.”

“Looks like Mac’s gloves.” Jake replied, his thoughts going to his own son’s green mittens that he’d just gotten for the changing season. He was so excited to squeeze his mother’s face with them when she got home from work.

Jake felt like keeling over to vomit at the thought of his son’s green glove, buried in the dirt, the only shred of evidence to lead a bunch of total strangers to find his body.

“Hey,” Charles placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder, and Jake could feel the chill of cold fingers through his leather jacket, “This isn’t easy for any of us. Don’t spiral. We’ve gotta keep our heads on straight. For her.”

He knew his friend was right. Charles was a great father, and a brilliant detective. Despite how difficult this was, they had to power through the things that made them nauseous, and focus on trying to find her. They couldn’t lose hope. Whether or not they found her alive...her family deserved to know what had happened.

* * *

It was a long day. After fourteen exhausting hours, Holt finally forced Charles and Jake to go home and get some sleep. It was after midnight when Jake finally stepped out of the precinct and into the cold, dark air.

Part of him debated continuing to work the case on his own off-duty, but then he thought of Mac, sleeping in his racecar bed back at the apartment. He had to get home and do the dad thing.

Sometimes it was really hard to be a detective and be a dad.

Sometimes all the darkness he saw was crushing and made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. Sometimes all he wanted to do was disappear and drink his weight in whiskey. But he was lucky. He had an incredible wife, who understood this more than anyone. And he had the most amazing kid on the planet. When shit got really dark, he always knew he didn’t have to face it alone.

By the time he reached the apartment and quietly shoved the door open, the clock was inching past 12:15. Jake stepped cautiously, sliding his sneakers off in the entryway so he could cross the apartment in sock-clad feet.

His first stop was Mac’s room. The door was ajar, the small orange glow of his night light illuminating a piled up mess of action figures and barbies in the middle of the room. Jake’s eyes combed over the spread of toys, the nightstand, the newly christened “big boy” race car bed, and finally his son’s sleeping frame.

Mac took after his mother in so many ways. His cheeks smushed up into his pillow, face nestled in a charming little puddle of drool. His curls were unruly and tangled from sleep, and he had kicked the covers off at some point during the night. Even at four years old, he snored like his mom, guttural and unruly.

Moving with an expertly practiced silence, Jake padded into the room and pulled the covers up under Mac’s chin, tucking him back in so the cold chill of outside couldn’t creep up on him. Jake wished more than anything he could keep this little boy curled up underneath his Ninja Turtles blanket, hidden away from the big bad world outside.

Hardly breathing, Jake leaned down and planted a soft kiss to Mac’s forehead, gently cupping his palm across the boy’s head in a brief caress. He longed to pull Mac up into his arms and squeeze the boy tightly, a reminder that he was here and okay, but he didn’t want to wake him, so he settled for taking in his face for a moment.

“Love you bud.” Jake murmured, then turned for the door. He left it cracked and headed into the hallway toward his bedroom.

Jake gently nudged the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him carefully. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, shimmying out of his jeans and climbing into the bed in just his briefs. His wife was the lightest sleeper on the planet.

Following the small dip in the mattress, she turned to face him and her groggy voice came through in the darkness, “Jake?”

“It’s me babe.” He replied quietly, “Sorry for waking you.”

“S’okay honey.” Amy scooted her body closer to him almost unconsciously, and asked, “What time?”

Jake ran his fingers gently across her scalp, and she sighed contentedly as he responded, “Just after midnight.”

“Did you find her?” Amy asked hopefully, referring to the missing girl.

“No.” Jake’s voice was brief and hard.

“Not yet.” Amy corrected him, and Jake had to smile a bit at her unwavering optimism, “Did you eat?”

Jake thought back to the several hours he’d been hunched over his desk reviewing evidence, and then combing the park for leads. He hadn’t had much time to chow down, “Not in a while.”

“Jake.” Amy chided, scooching up and clicking on her bedside lamp. The orange glow lit up her tired expression, and she looked over at him worriedly.

Jake took a moment to admire his beautiful wife. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sloppy, slept-on bun. She wore one of his old hoodies and a pair of comfortable underwear, but nothing else. She still smelled of her coconut shampoo.

“I know.” He replied shortly, “I can’t be doing that.”

“You’re gonna find her.” Amy said surely, reaching over to take his hand in hers and squeeze hard.

“Maybe.” Jake said softly, “Probably not alive.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Amy shook her head, “You have to stay positive babe.”

“I found one of her gloves today.” Jake’s voice was guarded, monotone, “Half-buried in the dirt at a park.”

“That’s great,” Amy said, always thinking like a sergeant, “A lead!”

“Amy, it was _so small._ ” Jake could barely control the words as they slipped out of his trembling lips, “It was so small. It was like Mac’s little hand. It was just this tiny little thing in this big awful pile of evil.” He shuddered, “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

Jake felt his wife’s arms wrap around his torso, and he rested his head in the crook of her neck, snuggling up against her embrace. Her fingertips traced gentle circles down his bare back, and she rested her chin in his hair.

“She’s just a little girl.” Jake sounded far away to his own ears, “How is there so much bad in the world, Amy?”

“I don’t know.” Amy replied after a pause, sighing heavily, “But I know there’s good too.”

“Nothing can ever be good enough to compete,” Jake argued, “Sometimes it feels so overwhelming, that no amount of good can ever keep up.”

“Look at me.” Amy’s hand shot out and she took Jake’s chin between her fingers, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her tired gaze was earnest and sincere, “Yes, there is some really terrible stuff out there. And we see more of it than most people do. And I know how awful that is, Jake. Especially with Mac, thinking about sending him into this terrible world…” she shuddered visibly before continuing, “But we have to remind ourselves that there _is_ good.”

Amy scooted in closer and nestled her face close to Jake’s, speaking warmly and fondly, “Remember our wedding day? How absolutely insane and bad it was? For a minute there, I felt pretty hopeless. Wanna know what I did?” Jake nodded, listening intently.

“I thought about you.” Amy responded quietly, “And how you can always make me laugh, and make me feel good even when things are nightmarish out here.” she waved vaguely around them, “The world is really scary sometimes, and it seems like there’s nothing good to save it, but then I look at your face and I’m reminded that that just isn’t true.”

Amy inhaled gently, “And now I think about Mac. I look into his big, sweet eyes. He’s so curious and excited, to him, there is _no_ bad. And I have to try to remember what that’s like. Before I knew the truth.”

“There’s good right here.” Amy continued surely, “There’s good in the way you kiss me before you leave for a long shift. There’s good in the way you always make sure to tuck Mac in, even if he’s been asleep for hours before you get here. There’s good in having Thanksgiving dinner with our families, even though they are insane and argue all the time. There’s good in Rosa babysitting Mac and ending up with green turtle face paint stuck in her eyebrows for two weeks.”

Jake laughed at that last bit, remembering how angry their friend had been at the prospect of looking like a ninja turtle for more than the hour she’d allotted for it with Mac. Nonetheless, it hadn’t stopped her from babysitting since. They were grateful for that, Mac loved his Auntie RoRo.

“There _is_ enough good, Jake. We just have to remind ourselves to find it, especially when it’s extra hard.”

Jake gripped his wife’s hand even tighter, letting her soothing words wash over him. She was right of course, and Jake was ashamed for not being able to see it himself. The world was pretty terrible sometimes, there would never be anything he could do to fix that. However, he had so much good in his life, and sometimes that’s all he could focus on. Sometimes it’s all he had to stay afloat.

“I love you Ames.” Jake murmured, bringing her hand up to kiss each knuckle sweetly, “Thanks for waking up to cure my existential crisis.”

Amy chuckled warmly, “I love you too. What else are wives for, am I right?”

“Go to sleep doofus.” Jake kissed the top of her head and reached around her to click off the lamp, “Got a long day of motivational speaking tomorrow.”

In the darkness, Jake wrapped his arms around Amy’s waist and tucked her close up against his chest. He buried his face in her neck, relishing in her familiar scent and relaxing to the rhythm of her slow breathing. Warm in his bed with his wife in his arms, he fell into a restful slumber. 

* * *

Jake was awoken early by the sound of his bedroom door slamming open. He sat up straight as a bullet, wide-eyed and somewhat frantic as he took in his surroundings, only to find that Mac had shuffled his way into their bedroom in the early hours of the morning.

Miraculously, Amy had slept through the door opening, and grumbled something unintelligible in her sleep before rolling over, resuming her snores. The sun had just started to rise behind buildings outside the window.

“Hey bud, whatcha doing up so early?” Jake held his arms out for their son, who crossed the floor and climbed up on the bed. His curly hair was disheveled from sleep, and he was rubbing his brown eyes sloppily.

Mac wrapped his arms around Jake’s neck, burying his face in Jake’s bare chest, “Bad dream, Daddy.”

“Oh, bud I’m sorry.” Jake curled his arms protectively around Mac’s body, squeezing him tight against his skin, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Mac shook his head, “Too scary.”

Jake sighed gently into his son’s hair, murmuring, “I understand bubba. I’m here, okay? It wasn’t real.”

“It was real.” Mac whispered in a timid voice, wrangling himself a bit loose to look Jake in the eyes seriously, “It was you.”

“Me?” Jake asked, a bit confused. His son was getting more coherent as he neared age five, but sometimes he still made no sense.

“A bad guy snuck up on you and hurt you.” Mac sniffled, and Jake could hear the telltale tremble in his son’s voice that indicated he was close to tears.

“Now Mac,” Jake forced his voice to remain steady, though his son’s words tore through his chest, “Where would you get an idea like that? No one’s gonna hurt me.”

“Niko told me that you and Mommy and Uncle Charles and even Auntie RoRo stop bad guys, and they want to hurt you.”

Jake sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment as he debated on whether or not this was the time for this conversation. He figured there was no time like the present, so curled up in bed with a four-year-old who had awful morning breath, Jake began a spiel he and Amy had been prepping for years.

“Well, Mac, we’re detectives. That means we look for people who hurt other people or sometimes kill them and we make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. But we are very good at our jobs. We always make sure we are safe, and that _we_ don’t hurt anyone either. Even if they are bad guys. I promise, you never have to worry about Mommy or me getting hurt, okay?”

“Okay.” Mac replied, seeming a bit overwhelmed, but trying to absorb his dad’s promise.

“Do you have questions?” Jake asked softly.

“Do you have a gun?” Mac asked.

Jake grimaced, but didn’t want to lie, “We have them at work.”

“Do you shoot people?”

“No.” Jake replied sternly, “No we do not.” Jake decided not to include the detail that his own wife had shot him a few years ago, it wasn’t relevant, “We have lots of other ways to bring bad guys to jail. And that’s not something you should ever worry about Mac. We would never hurt anyone.”

“Okay.” Mac repeated, nodding a little.

“I love you bud.”

“I love you.” Mac paused for a beat, then asked, “Are there lots of bad guys?”

Jake hesitated, purring his lips thoughtfully, before he replied, “Sometimes it feels that way. But there are more good guys.”

“There are?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, buddy. Like you.” Jake poked Mac playfully in the cheek.

“I’m good?”

“Oh, you’re so good.” Jake assured him, offering his son a reassuring smile, “In fact, I think you might be the _best._ ”

Mac nodded, a loud, breathy yawn overtaking his face as he curled in a little closer against Jake, “M’tired.”

“Go back to sleep.” Jake urged him gently, “I’m here.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too Mac.”

It didn’t take long for the familiar sound of Mac’s uneven snoring to fill the air again, and Jake smiled a bit. He felt the bed shuffle, and glanced over his shoulder to see Amy’s open eyes watching him, a small smile on her lips.

“How long have you been awake?” He demanded in a whisper.

“Long enough.” Amy replied quietly, leaning in to kiss Jake’s shoulder blade sweetly, “You did good.”

“Hate that he has to think about that stuff.” Jake murmured.

“But he has you.” Amy reminded him, “And he’s pretty lucky. We both are.”

Jake shook his head, careful not to jostle Mac, “I’m the lucky one. I love you so much. Both of you.”

“I love you too babe.” Amy whispered, scooting in closer to him so that Jake was sandwiched between her and Mac.

The world may be dark and sometimes more painful than imaginable, but Jake knew he could always come home to the most incredible people in the world. And somehow, laying there smushed between the two loudest snore-ers on Earth, a horrible case weighing heavily on his mind, and his son’s inner turmoil starting to churn anxiety in his stomach, Jake had never felt more at peace. He had his little bit of good, and he was gonna hold on to it as long as he could.

Even when things out there got bad.

**Author's Note:**

> *just a quarterly reminder that all my fics for b99 are FICTIONAL representations of cops. I am not a fan of police irl and nothing in my fics is indicative of my feelings for cops. this is a rosy fanfic world where the cops are human beings like in b99


End file.
